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by Grinner_H



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	Home

One step. 

It's all that stands in the way between Chrome and security. _One step,_ but it may as well be a million, may as well be _eternity._

Chrome stands before the intimidating rusted gates of Kokuyou Land, hovering somewhere between _must_ and _can't,_ dizzied from pain and fatigue and hunger.

Around her, the air is still; but it feels so mockingly _cold._ The promise of sleep is tempting. Chrome wants nothing more than to fall asleep right here - standing up and blissfully oblivious to solitude and hurt.

But all it takes is _one step,_ and she'd be well on her way to warmth and safety - the likes of which she's never known even from the parents who gave her birth. 

Her knees buckle and her head swims, frail body swaying in the absent wind which threatens to knock her over. But Chrome has always been a woman of weak constitution and iron will. 

She forces strength into her spindly legs, _one step,_ then two, then fifty; pushing past the unbearably loud creak of the metal gate and running up the path, up the worn cement steps toward the dilapidated building she's known as home for too long now. 

She runs like it's the only thing that's keeping her bones within her flesh, like her very existence would cease to be if she stopped. She scurries like lightning up the ladder that's missing a few rungs, sprints all the way to the erstwhile movie theater on the top floor. 

"You're late, stupid woman!" Ken calls from his lazy sprawl on the only piece of furniture they own which once qualified as a couch. 

Chrome grips her side, panting wildly. Her fingers are digging into the wound in her flank; she can feel the warmth of her blood seeping through the cloth of her shirt, coloring her palm. 

_"Ken,"_ Chikusa admonishes, his signature monotone - like Ken's insult - bearing no real bite to it. The underscore of worry giving way to relief in his deceivingly impassive tone - not unlike the one in Ken's words - does not go unnoticed nor unappreciated by Chrome.

And she wants to apologize. She really _does_ \- for her tardiness, for the worry she's caused and the state she's in - but, bereft of her strength, she falls. 

It isn't the moldy floor that meets her. It is Ken and Chikusa, each grabbing onto her arms and holding her upright. She looks up into their faces - identical expressions of concern gracing their features - and she feels warmth spread over her like liss of a late morning sun. 

"Stupid woman," Ken reiterates, as if he hasn't emphasized that opinion enough in the past twelve years, though the grip he has on her doesn't loosen.

Chikusa sighs, turns and braces her arm against the nape of his neck, places his own around her waist, mindful of the wound in her side. 

Ken follows suit, and together, they help her toward the couch. 

Chrome allows herself a small smile, comforted in the knowledge that - after more than a decade - everything and nothing has changed.


End file.
